When aging collides with the male ego, there can be big trouble.

Some call it a mid-life crisis; others get depressed and discouraged. Some men cheat or get angry.  Or make wars.

There are better ways to go.

Everyone reading this is getting older,  no matter your age, every minute of every day, to it’s important to me to write about what I’m learning about it.

All roads lead to aging and death, and the process, I am learning, is as much about the mind as it is about the body.

We have a relatively complex and potentially dangerous situation on the farm; we have discovered that our back pasture fence has eroded over the past few years, and the sheep can get out in search of grass before our grows (we too hastily gave the electric company the right to tear down the wall of bushes and vegetation that supported the fence last year to protect against fire and storm damage).

This is a big deal. Animals can get killed, and so can people. It is a nightmare for people with farms.

Two nights ago, the sheep pushed through the weakened mesh/thick bush barrier and made their way to a neighbor’s lawn. A busy highway is suddenly accessible, as is the lush grazing across the road.

Sheep running across the highway at night is a frightening idea.  It happened once. We will never let it happen again.

When I moved to the first Bedlam Farm, I was hit with several crises and problems like this – clever donkeys, broken fences, storms, and floods – and I was living there alone. I handled every crisis by myself, sometimes asking for help, mainly dealing with it without help.

I was proud of that; it made me feel strong and independent, an ego boost I needed. Good food for the macho man and me, who was always considered an incompetent weakling.

But as the world is continuously learning, egos and males can be a toxic combination.

As we deal with our fence problem, it is suddenly more complex, another opportunity to learn and grow.

I’m not the only ego involved now; Maria loves the farm and especially takes responsibility for problems like this.

She is an artist and an engineer of sorts who is strong and resourceful and proud of the things she fixes and maintains here. Her ego, once weak, is just as significant as mine. I am happy to see it.

She has her issues too. “I can’t even pay for the fencing,” she told me. She wishes she could do more. Women have big egos too. She often feels just as useless as I do. And it has nothing to do with age.

At the same time, my ability to help in the old way is greatly diminished or, put differently, changed.

Physically, I cannot haul fencing around, stay out in the cold too long, spare my back and legs from the pain of crawling around rocks and bushes.

I can’t do it, and I know I can’t do it, and Maria knows I can’t do it, but my ego is not happy about it. That’s a hard reality for anyone to face, male or female.

I feel useless and diminished. I feel sorry for myself.

I can’t help fix a broken fence on my farm, an essential chore on a farm with animals. It doesn’t feel good.

Yet when I think about it, which I did yesterday, I realize that I can help in many different ways. And they are essential and essential as well.

First, Maria loves doing this work.

It is healing and nourishing for her. She has become stronger and more confident by taking over much of the farm’s physical work. She loves working and solving problems. She is very good at it.

Most people I know would be utterly stumped at laying 200 of fencing by themselves. She can’t wait. And she does it well.

This shows up in her life, art, sense of well-being, and confidence—significant things.

I can help financially by easing the burden on an artist who works so hard and sells everything she makes but can’t earn a ton of money.

This is America. Artists rarely get rich or have extra money lying around for emergencies. (She loudly insisted on paying for half of the meals on our vacation.)

I can buy the wire mesh fence we need to secure our back pasture and protect the animals.

Maria was out patching up one section of fence yesterday; she was out there for five or six hours while I wrote, took photos, read, shopped for food, and did the dishes.

I also take pictures and record the story of our lives. This, I have come to see, helps people to think about their ways and look for solutions to their fears and struggles. That is also kind of important.

The blog also helps me clarify how I feel about Maria and our marriage and helps me support her rather than obstruct her.

A voice in my head said, “Jon, are you nuts? This is a miracle. You couldn’t even be on the farm now without Maria; give thanks for her.” So I did and smacked my ego around a bit.

Instead of complaining, my new role is to make sure I am helping and being supportive.

How interesting that we each feel we couldn’t be here without the other. I doubt that is true, but it’s an excellent way to look at it. And it speaks well of our appreciation for one another.

On top of the obvious, I also help in other ways.

I talk to farmers, call farm supply stories, different research fencing, check on heights and availability, and then go out and get what we need. I write fine, take pictures quickly, plant flowers,  and drive without trouble.

I write checks, which Maria hates to do.

I can do so many things to help, and I try to do them all while leaving Maria alone to put up the fence; she already knows more about it than I do and loves working outdoors and accomplishing things.

I had my shot; now she has hers. When  I die, I want to feel that I was there for her until the end, as she is there for me.

It isn’t that I can’t help. Rather than I can help in many different ways. I am important too, and needed, and valuable.

I am great on the phone, great at researching, finding reasonable prices, and talking to knowledgeable people. Maria asks for my advice all the time.

I can also be of use with animals. When Maria found the sheep outside the fence, she called me on her phone and asked for help. She had fallen and gotten tangled in the mesh fence. She was in trouble.

I went running back there. By the time I got there, she had gotten up and called them back inside using grain. She said she was happy I was there. She was also proud of herself.

I brought a herding crook and my loud mouth, which works with sheep as quickly as a border collie. I am always ready to help.

This morning, in bed, I asked: “are you sure you can do this alone? We need 200 feet of new fencing; I can call Mike or a fencing company and get some help.”

It’s cold out there, I told her,  and the fencing – (wire mesh turkey and chicken fencing, which works well with sheep in bushy terrain) will be challenging to set up.

Maria ignored me yesterday when I said the same thing.

She went out and did a remarkable job yesterday; she sealed off one of the holes the sheep had made by the first fence. It was professional, solid, and effective.

We checked first thing this morning. The sheep were right where they belonged. We’ll let them in the south pasture – heavily and well fenced – until the holes are patched.

Maria was annoyed this morning by my continued fussing about helping her and my limits. “I don’t need that kind of help and don’t want any,” she said, “I can do this and love doing it.”

Okay, I get it; I accept her at her word. I won’t ask her again. She says she doesn’t even think about it, that I am always supportive and helpful. I couldn’t do this without you, she says.

I made some calls. The mesh we need is waiting for is at Country Power in Greenwich – I called my pal John Rieger – and he has what we need and at a reasonable price. He knows what it means to have a fence that is down around animals.

I’ll pay for the fencing (Maria always insists on contributing what she can). I’ll drive her to pick it up. I’ll help her get it out to the back pasture. I’ll make sure she has a cellphone and a dog.

I’ll bring her tea and water. I’ll make lunch and dinner. I’ll go food shopping this afternoon.

I am learning about aging and that it’s never true that you can’t help.

That’s a sickness of the head, not the body. My ego has been good to me; it helped me write books my whole working life. But sometimes, we need to part ways and let other people grow.

I don’t have to give up on the idea of being worthwhile. I have to find different ways and respect and be grateful for the people who help me live my life.

I am not weak or pathetic. What I am is damned lucky to be alive, living my life on my farm and doing the work I love.